The Making of Herman Faust

by Michele E. Gwynn

  Faust reached for his sidearm, unlocking the holster, and whipping out his handgun before shouting, “Beck!”

  An explosion of sound shattered the silence. The assassin pulled the trigger and a hail of bullets flew.

  Faust dove behind the nursing station, knocking the doctor and one nurse to the ground as he went down. Major Beck came out of his room down the hall, firing at the blond man, catching him off guard, but only for a moment before he turned the nozzle of the Uzi in his direction. The spray of bullets sent chips of plaster flying from the walls and shards of glass from broken lights became deadly projectiles in an instant. Herman took advantage of the distraction to the man’s attention. He peered around the corner of the desk and took aim at the assassin’s boots. The first shot missed, but the second hit the toe of his left foot.

  The assassin grunted, cursing, and with his free hand, pulled out a Glock from inside his coat. He aimed it in Faust’s direction, pulling the trigger. He was now fighting two fronts and winning. He advanced forward, getting closer to Beck, and closer to Therese’s room. Beck’s mercenaries, Voigt, Jensen, and Weiss joined the fight. Two advanced from near the elevator and Voigt came from behind Beck who provided cover. The explosion of gunfire continued as Beck and his men battled it out, their handguns versus one assassin with an Uzi that held them at bay. Faust listened for an opening, peeking around again, taking aim and preparing to shoot. The man was only three feet now from his daughter’s room, having pushed Beck and Voigt back while simultaneously holding Jensen and Weiss in their current positions hiding behind medication carts in the hall.

  Faust felt his heart beating somewhere in the region of his throat. There was no way he was going to let this killer get to his daughter. He’d die first. Crossing himself, he maneuvered into a squat, getting ready to spring out. “One, two,” he whispered, set to go on three.

  A shot rang out from behind them. The assassin stiffened, eyes rolling up in their sockets. His knees gave way as he fell face first onto the hard tile, blood pooling around his head. The silence was deafening.

  Faust stood cautiously, looking hard right down the hallway beyond the Jensen and Weiss who were still hunkered down. Joseph stood there, gun still raised, a plume of smoke curling out from the tip.

  He looked at Herman and dropped his arm down to his side. “Maybe next time you’ll keep it down so a man can catch a little shut-eye.”

  A chuckle of relief bubbled out of him. Faust wiped the beads of sweat off his forehead, coming to a stand. “Christ. Can’t sleep through a little gunfire, Joseph? Don’t be such a cranky old woman.” Inside, emotions threatened to choke him. Herman turned and ran to Therese’s room.

  ***

  In less than an hour, agents from the LKA arrived on scene, securing the hospital perimeter and the ward. The press came out in droves, but were kept outside of the police tape as the body of the assassin was carted out the back via the morgue. Rather than utilizing the city coroner’s van, the deceased was transported by ambulance, no lights flashing, and no siren blaring. The quiet exit allowed the agents the opportunity to provide a decoy suspect to be walked out through the front door in cuffs and taken by police cruiser to headquarters. Major Beck volunteered Voigt. A jacket was thrown over his head to hide his identity as the communications liaison, at Direktor Muller’s order, informed the press that a lone wolf gunman had entered the hospital that morning and began shooting.

  “At this time, the motive isn’t clear. What we do know is that there were no fatalities and no injuries. We’ll keep you apprised as we find out more, but for now, this is an ongoing investigation.” The liaison stood tall, speaking with easy confidence. As he concluded, the journalists began shouting questions, like a nest of hungry magpies begging for worms. He exchanged a brief look with Direktor Muller who gave an almost imperceptible nod. The signal passed between them and the liaison waved to the reporters before turning to walk away. The press conference was over.

  Upstairs, Major Beck filled Faust and Heinz in on the plan.

  “We leave in twenty minutes. I have men already getting into position surrounding the embassy. Muller has contacted them. The embassy staff is aware of the threat and the American CIA have taken over locking it down. No one will get in and the ambassador won’t be coming out, not today. It’s up to us to intercept Captain Rheinhardt...” Beck eyed Faust, “by any means necessary.”

  Herman nodded. He understood. Even if Rheinhardt surrendered, which was highly unlikely, getting within thirty feet of the man would be too dangerous. That was the radius determined by the American scientists.

  “What of bystanders? That’s a busy street. How will we keep innocent people from becoming infected?” Heinz asked what they were all thinking.

  “The local police have been directed by the LKA to make sure the streets are blocked off. As I understand it, they are using a possible gas leak as the cover story. Undercovers should already be arriving on scene to begin the ruse. Having them there early helps alleviate suspicion.”

  “But Rheinhardt still must make his way there, and depending on how, it could be putting hundreds of lives in danger.” Faust sighed. He reached up to rub the back of his neck.

  “Perhaps, but as I understand it, the incubation period has not yet expired,” Beck looked at his watch, “but you’re right. It will reach its full potency by noon.”

  Heinz touched Faust on the shoulder. “But the Hoffmann women died before her infection reached the point of being airborne, did she not?”

  “Yes, she did.” Herman glanced up at Beck. “How do we even know Rheinhardt is still alive?”

  “We don’t. It’s entirely possible he’s expired already from the ravages of the virus. The Hoffmann woman was weaker, though. She was frail compared to your captain, and it is still within the realm of possibility that he lives and intends to carry out his mission. There’s also the fact that Colonel-general Davidovich has gone out of his way to stop you from interfering in his plans. I’d say Obolensk has high confidence that their weapon is still in play. They are timing this to a tee.”

  “Dammit, you’re right.” Faust pounded the table with his fist.

  A knock on the door interrupted them. Beck swung the door wide. Standing on the other side was Helga flanked by Stein and Graf. Behind her, Jasper stood holding two large bags packed with hot lunches. There was fear and confusion in both their eyes, and cold resolve in the faces of the two mercenaries.

  Faust jumped up, running to his wife. “She’s okay, Helga. She’s okay.” He held her tight, kissing the top of her head.

  Heinz calmly walked around them. “I’ll take that. Thank you, Jasper.” Jasper nodded and, backing up slowly, left.

  Beck took in the room from where he stood. “Everyone eat fast. We move out in thirty minutes.” He paused and eyed Stein and Graf. “I need you both to stay here, guard Helga and her daughter.”

  If they were disappointed to be left behind, they didn’t show it. Instead, they tucked into the hot food set out by Heinz. It was a quiet meal. Everyone was on edge and there was nothing left to say.

  Chapter Ten

  Clouds gathered blocking out any hint of sun. The winds shifted from the north, bringing a cold gust. The temperature began to go south, and with all the moisture in the atmosphere, promised snow before dusk. Faust and Heinz sat inside the back of the black van parked just outside of the cordoned perimeter around the embassy. Outside, SEK officers dressed as gas company technicians concentrated their performance around a manhole surrounded by bright orange cones. They wore HazMat suits, a precaution since they were located inside the danger zone. Vehicular and foot traffic continued around them, taking the detours set up by the police earlier. Only a few gawkers stopped to watch the workers and only for a few minutes before continuing on their way.

  “What time is it?” Faust asked.

  Joseph glanced at his watch. “Half noon.”

  Major Beck sat in the front seat next to Jensen who sat behind the wh
eel. He looked over his shoulder. “Weiss, make sure they have their masks.”

  Weiss stood, reaching over Joseph’s head, and extracting three gas masks from the shelf. He handed one to Heinz, one to Faust, and kept the third.

  “Take a moment to put them on and adjust the straps. They won’t work if they don’t fit properly.” Beck demonstrated with his own.

  “I’m familiar with how a gas mask works, Beck,” Faust grumbled.

  “I’m sure you are, but how often have you had to use one so far patrolling the streets of Berlin?” he asked, eyebrow raised.

  Heinz chuckled. Herman eyed Beck. “Smartass.”

  “Yes, and also right. Do it,” Major Beck commanded.

  Faust pulled the rubber straps over his head and worked the mask into place. Weiss stepped forward, tightening the restraints. He bent down, coming at face level with Herman.

  “How does that feel?”

  “Tight.”

  “Can you breathe?” he asked.

  “Barely, yes.”

  “Good, then it’s working.” He turned to Heinz, making short work of his adjustments.

  The two men sat there, faces disguised by the gear making them alien in appearance.

  “Now you look like men,” Beck chuckled. His laugh was cut short when Jensen elbowed him, pointing out the window.

  Near the corner, just beyond the caution tape, a car pulled to a stop. The blue BMW backed haphazardly into a small, lined space next to a handicapped parking spot. The driver stepped out, barely able to stand. He stood there, surveying the area with suspicion.

  “Faust, is that him?” Beck asked, beckoning Herman forward to look over his shoulder.

  Through the goggles of the gas mask, he watched the man he once respected, once looked up to as an example for what he hoped to become in the future. Rheinhardt, once a robust specimen of law enforcement, now appeared sickly. His pallor had taken on a yellowish hue, jaundiced. His cheeks and eyes sunk into his face, and as the man lifted his hand to wipe his forehead, it was apparent he was fevered as well. “Yes, that’s him, or what’s left,” Faust confirmed.

  The two-way radio in Beck’s hand came alive. “Suspect at nine o’clock from our position,” came Direktor Muller’s voice. Muller was in the back of the faux gas company work truck. “It looks like he’s in the full flush of fever, gentlemen. We need to act fast, but wait for my signal. Rheinhardt needs to be inside the perimeter. We can’t risk him getting out.”

  Faust watched as Heinz peered around him to get a better look. They both knew from the break down provided by the American scientists that once the fever set in, the contagion was fully matured. Even in non-life-threatening viruses, fever indicated that the carrier was highly contagious. When the body temperature rises, it’s a sign that the immune system is working overtime to fight off the infection. Being an amazing machine in its own right, the body usually wins this fight, but in Rheinhardt’s case, thanks to the biological engineering of Solomon Hoffmann under the thumb of Obolensk, his body would not heal, and he knew it. He’d willingly become infected knowing he would die, and worse, he disgraced himself and his uniform by volunteering for this suicide mission. It caused Faust’s blood to boil that the captain sought to kill so many innocent people by unleashing the deadly pathogen. It was an act of war on the American Embassy, the target chosen by Colonel-general Davidovich, a stealth attack designed to reach far beyond Ambassador Holmstead and his family. The scope of their mission would affect millions of West Germans, anyone on the airplane which could spread to multiple countries, and Americans, none of whom would know what hit them, would never be able to pinpoint the origin. This was ground zero.

  “He’s coming in,” Jensen whispered.

  They all watched as Rheinhardt, ignoring the caution tape, slipped under and began making his way toward the front gate of the embassy. He pulled a Yankees baseball cap out of his coat pocket, pulling it down on his head.

  “What is he doing?” Heinz asked, confused by the gesture.

  “He’s trying to appear American,” Faust answered. He looked over at Joseph. “Think about it, how else would he get passed the gate guards? He plans to pass himself off as a sick American in need of help. Had we not forewarned them, it would most likely have worked. If nothing else, he would infect the guards simply by proximity.”

  “Jesus Christ,” Heinz muttered.

  Rheinhardt was nearly parallel to the police in HazMat suits pretending to work from the manhole in the center of the street. He cast a sidelong glance in their direction and when they ignored him, he stumbled forth. His gate wobbled as he struggled to remain upright. He looked like he could collapse any minute.

  “Gentlemen, get ready,” came the word on the radio.

  Weiss, Faust, and Heinz moved to the back of the van where Weiss quietly opened the door. The three men slipped out, taking up position from behind, remaining out of sight. Beck and Jensen had their hands on their door handles, ready to jump out. All around the perimeter, undercovers readied themselves, masks on, guns in hand.

  Rheinhardt stopped. From their vantage point, Faust watched as the captain reached into his pocket and pulled out a pager. As he looked at it, his expression darkened. He looked up and around, first at the gates of the embassy, and then at the men surrounding the manhole. Panic flashed in his sunken eyes as they continued to cast around, landing on the work truck, two men on the north corner just beyond the caution tape, and another on the west side standing at a payphone, noticing them for the first time. He looked up to the tops of the buildings around the square sighting the sharp shooters. Again, he turned to the embassy gates, seeming to hesitate, and then, he pivoted and ran back toward the crowd on the south end, back towards where he’d parked.

  Without thought, Faust rushed out putting himself between Rheinhardt and the crowd. He took aim at the man and shouted, “Freeze, Captain!”

  Rheinhardt stopped, panting as he swayed on his feet. He squinted at Herman. “Who are you?”

  With twenty feet between them, Herman spoke. “It’s Faust.”

  Rheinhardt blinked, and then began to laugh. “Herman?” he choked, ending in a coughing fit. “How undignified. Here I am, a world-class officer and Soviet agent carrying out a mission that will make me legendary and the best the west can send me is my own patrol officer?” He howled, sounding insane. “That’s rich!”

  “I’m not the only one here, Captain, as you’ve already noticed. I just happen to be caught up in your treason. Did you know they came after my daughter? My three-year-old child, Goddamn you!”

  Behind Rheinhardt, Beck, Jensen, and the rest of the agents closed in, tightening the net. Beck signaled Faust to keep him talking.

  Rheinhardt smirked. “I’d say I’m sorry, Herman, but really, I’m the harbinger of death as you can see. She will die soon anyhow.”

  “No, Captain, she won’t.” Faust stared down the barrel of his gun at Rheinhardt.

  “It’s too late for heroics, Herman.” Rheinhardt glanced down at his wrist watch. “I’m contagious just standing here. The public are not wearing gas masks. The virus is airborne. It’s flying out of me with every breath.”

  “Then it’s time you stopped breathing.” Faust hesitated half a second, and then pulled the trigger. The bullet flew as if in slow motion, finding its target—right between Captain Rolf Rheinhardt’s eyes. The man was knocked backwards landing on the cold, hard asphalt with a thud.

  Behind Faust, the crowd broke into a panic, running from the scene. For that, he was grateful. Before him, the HazMat suits ran to the body, covering it immediately with a tarp. A HazMat unit pulled inside the perimeter and more men covered in white suits jumped out. They worked quickly to roll the body in the tarp, place it inside a body bag, and seal it up. The bag was lifted into a container that resembled a cryo chamber, and rolled into the truck. The second unit came with flamethrowers to cleanse the street of the blood. Flames burst forth from the nozzles engulfing the fresh body fluids, siz
zling until it burnt to a congealed mess, shrinking away until only ashes remained, and those were swept up. The captain’s car was impounded by a third hazardous materials unit, and in under half an hour, the area was cleared. The LKA kept the caution tape in place and local law enforcement were assigned to enforce the ban from the area until notified that it was safe for the public.

  Faust stood, gun still in hand, but now hanging at his side. Joseph put an arm around his shoulders and guided him back to the van.

  “I want to take this damn mask off,” he muttered, reaching for it. Joseph stopped him.

  “I know, but you have to keep it on until the medics clear us. We’re to go through decontamination for our safety.”

  “I need to get back to Helga. I need to see my daughter,” Faust continued to speak, seeming to be in shock.

  “You will. Just breathe, Herman. It’s over. The rest will pass quickly, and then we’ll go back to the hospital.”

  Faust nodded, letting Heinz know he’d heard him. He tried to breathe, but his heart was still racing. This was his first kill and it had been his captain. He couldn’t easily come to grips with that, not now, and maybe not ever. Beck arrived at his side, patting him on the arm.

  “Officer Faust,” he faced Herman. “You acted bravely. You did what was right, and because of you, millions of lives have been saved today.”

  Herman nodded. He knew it was expected, but he felt disconnected from the moment.

  “Come, let’s get you both over to decontamination, and then I’ll personally see you back to the hospital. I’m sure you’ll want to be with your family at this time.”